The Single Dad (Red's Tavern 4)

He gave me a look somewhere between amusement and hurt.

“Oh God,” I said. “Don’t tell me—”

“Yeah that’s Gertie,” he said. “And she doesn’t look like plastic. I love my car.”

“You drive that thing?” I said. “You’re going to get pulverized if you’re ever in an accident.”

“No, she’s super reliable,” he said. “The car won a ton of safety awards for its year.”

“I can’t believe I’m taking home a guy who names his car Gertie,” I said. “Especially when Gertie is a car like that.” I threw the truck into reverse and pulled out onto the road.

“Hey, she gets me from point A to point B. And does it even count as ‘taking me home’ if you’re not even going to fuck me?”

I whistled. “You sure are bold for someone I thought was just a pretty face.”

He gasped, all exaggerated. “That’s all you thought I was?”

“I liked what I saw,” I told him.

“I’m not a pretty boy, anyway,” he said. “I don’t know why you keep calling me that.”

“Like hell you’re not,” I said, glancing over at him. “All clean. You smell nice. Big, blue eyes. Not even a fleck of dirt on your shoes. I bet you do something in an office. Accountant? Insurance agent?”

“I work from home most of the time, thank you very much,” he said. “And no. I’m in tech, at a midsize software company.”

“Computer work,” I said. “That’s why you’re pale.”

He laughed, reaching over and smacking me on the shoulder. I was teasing him, but if I was being honest, I loved the way he looked. His skin was milky smooth, and I knew it had to be softer than hell. I was glad he’d been honest with me about not wanting a hookup earlier, because if I hadn’t known better, I’d have been pulling over to the side of the road already to devour him.

But I wasn’t messing with anybody who wasn’t completely sure he wanted to hook up with me. The last thing I wanted was to be the cause of someone’s horrible night, no matter how cute he was.

A few minutes later we pulled up onto the dirt driveway at my house, and I threw the truck into park.

“This is your house?”

“Yes, sir. Not exactly a palace, I know.”

We hopped out of the truck, and I watched his eyes as he took it in. I could tell by the way Cam dressed that he had money. He’d probably always had money. I hoped he hadn’t been expecting anything fancy coming around here, because my house didn’t look like much. It was a small cottage I’d gotten a screaming deal on when I got out of the Marines, on a plot of land where I didn’t have to be mashed up too close against neighbors.

“I love it,” he said.

“Grew up in trailers and double-wides, so this is more than I need.”

“You did?”

I nodded once. “Bet you’ve never even been in a trailer home before, right?”

I was surprised when he shook his head. “No, I’ve been in a few. Some of my friends growing up lived in a mobile home community nearby. We weren’t very well-off growing up.”

So I’d been wrong about him being a rich kid, even if he seemed plenty comfortable now.

“I’ve been slowly fixing this place up for four years,” I said as we made our way toward the front. We walked under the two tall oaks that flanked the front pathway. “These were what I loved most about it when I bought the place,” I said, sliding my hand across one of the trunks.

“They’re majestic,” Cam said. “And did you plant all of those flowers?”

“You bet.” I was still proud of my row of crimson Verbena flowers by the front window. “Let me show you.”

He bent down close, smelling the Verbenas, the catmint plants, and the sunflowers I’d just put down last week.

“I had to re-do all of the plant beds when I moved in,” I said. “It was the first project I did here.”

“So you’ve done a lot of DIY projects around here.”

I snorted. “DIY,” I repeated.

“What? You definitely strike me as the kind of guy who’d be good at it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m always working on something.”

“So you are a big DIY guy,” he said, looking up at me with a glimmer in his eye.

“It’s cute that you call it that,” I said. “I think everything I do is technically DIY. That’s how I like it, and I can’t really afford to do anything else, anway.”

“God, I’m fucking terrible at it,” he said, running his fingertips along the smooth, stained wood of the flower bed. “I’d hire somebody to come change my lightbulbs for me if I could.”

“That hurts me. Physically hurts me to hear you say that,” I teased.

“So I’m assuming you did all of this yourself, too?” Cam asked, walking over to the tiny front porch and glancing around at the stained wood. The lanterns by the front door illuminated the porch.